History
by nanodo
Summary: Bookman Jr. has had fourty-nine identities and each is just as bloody as the last. Is it even possible to seperate them when they are all dyed red?


_**Another DGM oneshot! Also a tad dark, I suppose, but mostly just my own speculation on Lavi. I am going to openly say that THE FORMAT OF THIS FIC WAS NOT MY IDEA. I thought it was a beautiful way to go back and forth between past and present, so I borrowed it. I cannot for the life of me find the fic I modeled this after (It was about Allen and Neah, I think), so if you wrote that or think you know who did PLEASE tell me so I can properly credit them (Or, ya know, take it down if they're not cool with me using their idea). Anyways, this is much longer than I usually write for oneshots (although it still isn't all that long), so I am kinda proud So yeah, enjoy!~**_

_**PS: Oh, I guess this is kinda AU, since I am too lazy to look up the canon timeline. **_

….

The boy couldn't remember his parents' faces. It didn't bother him, though, as they had never meant all that much to him. Sure, they had fed and clothed him, but he had realized from a very young age that he was more of an obligation than a family member. He suspected the only reason they even kept him was because they were good, respected Christian folk, the type who didn't dare risk being caught tossing out their own child by God, much less their neighbors.

He had only stayed with them to the age of six. His mother's brother was a soldier, and his troops had just returned from a bloody victory. People cheered and celebrated as the soldiers marched down the streets, before returning to their families until the next battle. The young boy found it fascinating. Not the war, but the people surrounding it. He had seen the opposite side of battles as well; a somber military funeral march, with all the towns' people mourning their sympathy for the deceased's loved ones. It had occurred to him – and him alone, it seemed – that somewhere else, another town was laughing and dancing about the very same deaths, as that was proof of their victory. It was curious to him how people could be so completely unaware of their own disagreements.

At the age of six though, as he watched the people celebrate. He had snuck away from his parents and was sitting on the bridge, his feet dangling off the edge, watching the soldiers march beneath him.

An old, soft voice spoke behind him. "Are you enjoying the-

….

"-celebration! It's the only way to properly welcome our new Exorcists!" Komui cried excitedly, clapping his hands together.

"There is no need, Chief. I'm sure Lavi and I will meet the other Exorcists over time on our own."

"Nonsense!" Komui huffed. "It's tradition, anyways! To throw a party for newcomers," Komui said.

Lavi decided it was time to test out his new persona. He grinned and said, "Aw, come on, Gramps! Don't deny them of their _tradition_. It would be impolite," he said, humor glittering in his eyes.

Over the years he had learned how to interchange personalities like clothing. He had been so many people, each equally meaningless to history, that he could barely recognize the meaning of-

…..

"-self, Rossin. You must always be attentive to your surroundings, commit every detail to memory without err. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Bookman!" the young, red-haired boy chirped as he hurried along behind the elderly man. Rossin was already drinking in the sights around him eagerly, trying with all his might to remember every detail; the number of carriages he saw in the streets down to the color of the buttons on a merchant's shirt.

Rossin had never been so excited in his life, to be a Bookman. Well, an apprentice, but one of the Bookman clan, still. He would learn things no one else knew, see and record events that could change the course of history forever. He was _special_. Someone important to the world. He didn't even mind changing his name now and then!

Bookman and his young apprentice found their way to an inn to spend the night and settled down to record their recollections.

Bookman retrieved a thick, black, leather bound notebook from the folds of his robes, along with a pen. He flicked it open and began to write.

Rossin did not yet have his own notebook, as he had only begun his training a few months previous. However, he did lie down in bed and close his eyes, as Bookman had instructed him in the beginning of his apprenticeship.

"_Try to replay the events of that day and every day that you have been with me thus far inside your mind. Recreate them without flaw and engrave them into your memory, to never be forgotten. If you can do this successfully after you have trained with me for one year, I will give you a-"_

…

"-notebook, Lavi!" Lenalee called after him as he left the cafeteria. "You left it at the table," she said, holding it out to him.

"Ah, thanks, Lenalee! You're a life saver! The Old Panda woulda killed me if I lost it," Lavi laughed.

Lenalee smiled in return. "Where are you going? You ate awfully fast."

Lavi scratched the back of his head sheepishly and grinned. "I was on my way to see Hevlaska, actually. I wanted to ask her more about my Innocence."

It was a half-truth. He _had_ been on his way to see Hevlaska, but Lavi had really been intending question her about the Order and past Exorcists, seeing as she had been there longest out of all living members of the Black Order.

"Oh, okay. You can feel free to ask Brother too, I'm sure he could answer a lot of your questions as well," Lenalee offered.

"Thanks, maybe I will," Lavi smiled. "Well, I'll see ya around, Lena-lady." She laughed at the silly nickname and waved at his back as he bounded down the hall, with his notebook, this-

…

-time had passed since Kell had joined Bookman in his journeys. Bookman Jr. was now fifteen and had seen more than his fair share of history. He had long since earned the right to a notebook, but by the end of that first year, the days he had had to recall had grown bloodier and bloodier.

Still, he watched.

Men screaming in bloodlust or death, anger or exhilaration; all of them sounded the same to the boy now. Nothing distinguished the cries of humans anymore, and Kell couldn't honestly say that it disturbed him so much as it made him feel sorry for their helplessness as they repeated the same gruesome cycle again and again.

Whether intentionally or unintentionally, he had closed off his mind to everything other than his records. He thought only of history and its course, and how these people, helpless as they were, held the ability to change it with the smallest nuances.

He had also realized a falsehood that he had so foolishly believed as a child: He was not special. He was a Bookman because he was completely unextraordinary. That is what makes a Bookman a Bookman, because if he were special, then he too would be able to change history. It was completely vital that he be absolutely and completely-

…

-unimportant things like friends were irrelevant to a Bookman in training. Yet, he couldn't help noticing that it was growing more and more difficult to tell whether his smiles were put on or genuine. He wondered to himself if humans really were so helpless, if this was how war always felt; to be surrounded by people you can't help but want to-

…

"-protect your knowledge before yourself, Liam. Always remember that nothing is more valuable than your records, because when I am gone, you will be the new Bookman and your findings will be the only honest history mankind possesses. Never forget this, Liam."

"I won't," the sixteen-year-old sighed. His birthday had been the week before and his gift had been a long, exhausting trek to France and a new identity. He was dedicated to become a good successor to the current Bookman, but there were times when it all just weighed down on him until it was hard to breathe.

Bookman looked at him sternly, likely trying to gauge whether or not his apprentice was really paying attention.

"What was the color of the innkeeper's shoes?" Bookman asked out of the blue.

"Light brown, scuffed up a lot, mostly on the top but it was new. He probably dropped something on them earlier," Liam answered, but gave his teacher an odd look. When he was younger, Bookman had often sprung quizzes like this on him when he was least expecting. He still did sometimes, but the questions were always along the lines of 'Who fired the thirteenth shot in the Battle of Rethmun?' or 'In the assassination of General Fernan, what characteristics did each of the seven bullets possess and what can you infer based on these traits?'

Harmless, bloodless questions like the one Bookman had just asked had ceased after Bookman Jr. had witnessed his first war.

"Describe the outside doorknob of our room," Bookman ordered.

Liam did, and answered every question Bookman asked for the next hour and a half, and with each one, the weight eased and it grew easier to-

….

-breathe easy, Komui," Head Nurse said gently. "She's only exhausted. Give her some time to rest up and she will be fine."

Lavi laid in the hospital bed next to Lenalee's, feigning sleep. Well, half feigning. He did doze off a few times. The reason he was pretending was because he knew he wouldn't be able to meet his comrades' eyes.

The Level 4's attack had resulted in devastating loss on the side of the Black Order. Many had died, and most everyone had been injured. Despite the fact that they had succeeded in destroying the Egg, the Earl would surely be working on a new one by now. It was a losing battle and he had seen everything he needed to see.

That night, when things had calmed down, Bookman walked into the Infirmary (as he had been resting in his own room) and stood over Lavi's bed.

The apprentice looked down at his lap as he sat up and snuck a glance over at the sleeping Lenalee on his right and the snoring Allen on his left.

"It's time," Bookman whispered. Lavi nodded. It was their job to record things from the most active perspective. The Black Order had held the upper hand for some time, but it was clear now that they were losing. It was time the Bookman clan move on to a different side of the war.

"We stay for one more week, then you know where we are going," Bookman murmured. Lavi just nodded again, and for once wished that he had never had to become Lavi, that he could have stayed as-

…

"-Deke. You remember the legend, of course, of the God Crystal, Innocence, and its accommodators."

"Yes," Deke answered.

"We will be recording this war from the side of the Black Order, who seek to retrieve and protect the Innocence from the Millennium Earl and his akuma. However, we will be joining this war as soldiers, not bystanders."

"Won't that alter history?" Deke wondered, confused.

Bookman shook his head. "You and I are already Innocence holders. We are meant to fight in this war, Deke, so we will. Don't forget yourself though. We still must be able to record unbiased and honest observations of this war. Do not allow your emotions to be pulled into this assignment."

Deke snorted at the thought. Letting his emotions get in the way of his duties? What an absurd thought. He had been training to become the next Bookman for eleven years. He had long since given up his personal connection to war of any kind, much less any of the people dumb enough to engage in it.

He no longer felt sorry for the stupid humans, who continued to massacre one another, over and over-

…

-again, as a new person. This person was not Rossin, Kell, Liam, Deke, Lavi or any of the other forty-four people he had been throughout his nineteen years. He was number fifty.

He walked alongside Bookman now, both in distinctly nondescript clothing as they wandered, looking for their new assignment. In all their records, the Noah clan was a hole that had just barely begun to fill back at the Order. They still needed more though, if they wanted their recollections on this war to be accurate.

As they walked, braving terrible winds, Bookman Jr. mused to himself. All the people back at the Headquarters of the Black Order who had died, all the tears that would be shed for them, all of that would be lost to history. None of it really mattered in the end, and it was his job to remember that.

It was his job to remember that names like Allen Walker, Lenalee Lee, Yuu Kanda, Komui Lee, Arystar Krory, Miranda Lotto, Noise Marie, Howard Link, and all the others… all of them were just words on paper, and when the time came for this war to finally end, he would move on to another and not one of those words would be anything more than that. These people were just ink in his notebook, and when it came down to it, it was unlikely that they had even slightly altered the course of-

END


End file.
